Dragon Age Inquistion: No longer a game
by Magnus Corvinus Albus
Summary: What happens when you find yourself stuck in the world of your videogame and in the body of your character? Mehenion Lavellan was once a normal person playing Dragon Age: Inquisition from behind a computer screen. But suddenly he finds himself in Thedas. How do you make yourself at home in a world that speaks a whole other language? The Inquisition storyline with a twist.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, so this is my take on the "ending up in Thedas while coming from Earth" trope. I hope you all like it and I hope it all makes sense since both Thedasian and English are written in English, and eventually the Elvhen that is missing also. **

**Edit: I put some more space in my text, diminished the huge blocks of text. Hope it worked out. **

His head felt numb when he finally opened his eyes. A man hunched over him. "Get the apostate!" The man yelled something that he could not understand. Another man replied. None of the words made sense, but the patient put this up to not being fully awake yet.

Gently, the man helped him up. Now that the patient sat upright, he started taking in his surroundings. They were in a hut. An Apothecary's hut to be precise. It was a simple wooden house, but there were a bunch of herbs, tied together and hung to dry on the ceiling. A pestle and mortar stood on a desk, strewn with papers. Concoctions in glass bottles on a rack, reed baskets on the ground.

The apothecary placed a cup of water in his patients hands. He said something again while the patient looked at his cup. The patient's eyes went wide with terror. He recoiled and the cup clattered to the ground. Then the boy, he looked like a mere boy at least, leaned over to the puddle to look at his face. He garbled something in a weird language.

The healer looked at the curious young man,who was feeling his pale face and pointed ears, as if he felt them for the first time. He saw the boy take strands of his pure white hair and frown, then softly smile. "Are you alright there, lad?" The boy looked up to him with pale grey eyes. They were a shock to behold. The boy was so pale and white, he could as well have burst into white light.

Whatever was going on in that head of his, it didn't bode well. The boy looked from the drying puddle to the man who helped him. He was a middle aged man with dark hair and a full beard. But if he was a doctor or some sort, he didn't look it. Weren't doctors dressed in white? The man wore a long beige robe with leather shoulder pads and beautiful trimming.

Where was he? But as soon as he pondered the question in his head, he felt two strong arms around his, pulling him from the bed, or at least what you could call it. He heard that strange language again from the men.

"Wait! He is not well!" The apothecary said. "I asked for the apostate!" "It will have to do." One of the guards replied. "He is demanded down in the stocks for questioning. The Apostate can look at him there." The other guard growled. He growled even harder when the patient, now deemed prisoner, writhed in his grip.

The prisoner flinched when he felt the grip tighten around his arm. Adan, the apothecar, looked at the trio leaving the little house, on the way to the chantry. Whatever happened at the temple of sacred ashes, must've messed with the boy really bad.

All of Haven spoke of it. A huge explosion placed the breach in the sky like a green gaping maw that was growing with each passing hour. The only survivor was this boy elf, a Dalish by the look of him, who stepped out of a rift, a green portal to Maker knows where, and fell unconscious. So obviously he had to be the perpetrator. But how could this boy, that didn't even seem to recognise his own face, provide them with any answers? What good was a trial going to do?

The cells were damp and chill and stunk of wasted hay. But he wasn't in one of the cells. Instead he was brusquely put down on his knees, in the middle of a stone circle. Shackles were put around his wrists. The boy looked bewildered. But somewhere in his glance was recognition. Like he was remembering things. And if he was remembering things, he might as well be able to remember what happened at the temple.

The guards unsheeted their swords when they saw a green light erupt from the boys hand. In their eyes, this made his guilt clear. He still bore the mark of the breach on his hand. It was like having the blood still on your hands. The prisoner looked just as shocked as they were. But it might be an act. He was still looking at his hand, where the mark throbbed in its palm. The door opened.

The boy gasped when he saw the women coming through. Every cell in his brain worked in overdrive. The woman was saying things, asking questions, but the boy didn't react. All he could think was: "I know this. It's so familiar." The hut, the apothecary, the stocks, the mark on his hand and now these women.

One of them had dark, seemingly short hair with a braid woven like a crown around her head. She had a battleworn face with a large scar across her left cheek. She was dressed for practicality. There were no frills and ruffles about her, instead she wore a breastplate, decorated with the image of an eye. And yet, the woman was still beautiful. But he KNEW this woman somehow. Cassandra…. It dawned on him.

And the other, Leliana, dressed with a long chainmail overthrow and a purple hood over her ginger hair. Both women were beautiful. But he doubted that mattered now. What he wanted to know is why they were here. Why HE was here. And why on Earth couldn't he understand a word they said? That headache should've been over by now.

The dark haired woman, Cassandra, lifted up his arm. The mark started throbbing again. More questions. He looked at them helpless. He shrugged.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Cassandra asked. The boy replied in a language they didn't understand. This was not Thedasian! The women stepped back and drew their weapons. "What is he saying?" Cassandra demanded to know. He heard panic in her voice.

He himself started breathing faster as well. He tried feeling his face but these binds didn't let them. He looked back at his throbbing hand.

* * *

OFCOURSE.. Why didn't he recognise this earlier? He had only just played Dragon Age Inquisition before...this. But how did that happen? How did he end up here physically? In the body of the character he played?

At first, he thought he was somehow "magically" sucked into the game. But if that were true, then these women would understand him and talk English, as he did. But they did not. This wasn't a language he recognised from anywhere on his own world. Which could only mean one thing...Thedas was real and he was...somehow conveniently… placed in the middle of it all, just at the same time the game would begin.

He had only just begun playing a new game, as he did often. He had played the beginning sequence around 30 times or more now, never got to the end of the game. The only reason why he couldn't remember this scene, or what they said, must've been because this was all way too weird to be deemed possible. Ofcourse he dreamed of it sometimes, who didn't if they liked to immerse themselves fully into a game?

But now he was here. Physically...and nothing made sense. For all he knew, these women might not even be named...oh. They were. He clearly heard Cassandra's name when Leliana held her back, and he heard Cassandra call her name. That way he could make estimations about what was going to happen in the future. But if he was here now, that might mean that what he knew and what would happen, could take totally different paths.

"If you have no answers, can you at least tell me your name?" Leliana wanted to know. She brought the boy out of his haze. "What is the use of this. He will be taken to Val Royaux for trial, IF he even survives until then!" Cassandra shouted. The boy looked at them helpless. If they were going to have to work together, they would have to find a way of communication, a common ground, something they both could understand. And right now, they were getting absolutely nowhere.

"My name is Leliana." The woman in chainmail said, pointing to herself. "You must remember something? No?" Leliana tried after no answer from the prisoner. But he was deep in thought. What name did he use? What name was he going to use here? He had two names he often used .

"Mehenion." The boy said. Leliana sighed. At least it was something. "Thank you." She said. This was going to be hard. They both knew this, they all knew this. With no common language, they had to resort to crude gestures, short sentences, drawings in the sand or snow. There was so little time however.

"What about the apostate? Might he not know anything about this? With his experience in the fade?" Cassandra asked. "He is by the rift, near the forward camp." Leliana explained. Cassandra cried out:"Splendid, JUST splendid!" How on Earth was she going to do this? She repeated herself. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift. I don't know how, but I will find a way. Even if I have to drag him all the way there." She sounded resolute and agitated. Leliana left.

Cassandra jerked him up, putting him on his feet. She let the iron shackles to be replaced by rope bounds. "Come." She said. When he didn't immediately react, she said it again, but harcher this time. But the gesture she made, clearly helped, because finally, they were getting somewhere.


	2. Chapter 2

Cassandra led him up the stairs into a huge hall. Mehenion looked his eyes out. His eyes seemed to fixate on the door on his left. "Come." Cassandra said and tugged at him gently. The light hurt his eyes and he used his arm to shield them from it. As soon as his eyes got used to the light, they fixated on the green gaping maw in the sky.

It was so much more impressive in real life, and he tried to imagine what reaction it would give "back home." Most likely people would try to shoot it, nuke it, bomb it. It would be all over the news and conspiracy theorists would say it were aliens, other would say it was the wrath of God. Nations would fall and crumble when the first demons would surface and rifts would appear. For however advanced his world seemed to be, they sure as hell weren't ready for something like this. Neither was this world. People here suffered as well. He would soon find that out.

"We call it the breach." Cassandra explained. "Breach." Mehenion repeated. Only now, in the stark light, Cassandra realised how mismatched his low voice was with his looks. He looked lithe, young and, in a way, almost feminine to her. His hair and face were almost as pale as snow, his pale eyes looked like they were going to penetrate her.

She was caught off guard when the boy screamed in pain. The mark hurt a hell of a lot more in real life. And it felt like his arm was going to fall off. It felt like his muscles were cramped up, but it also felt like a jolt of electricity, leaving his hand almost numb and tingling after.

But his face stood resolute. He started gesturing. To his chest. A finger across his throat. To the breach. To the mark in his hand. "I kill the breach, with this." was what she understood from it."Then…" She started, but before she could finish her question, the elf stood up and was marching in the direction of the gate. The direction she would have lead him herself.

"Where do you think you are going?" She snarled. The elf turned around. "Come" He mimicked her in the same bossy tone she used before. A mischievous smile on his lips. "Ugh." She followed him. How did he even know where to go? Who was supposed to be in charge here? "Wait for me." She said. As soon as they were outside the doors of Haven, she cut his bounds. "There will be a trial. I can promise no more." She said, then sighed. "Come." Her tone was now softer, but she barely needed to nudge him anymore. How this boy knew the way so well was beyond her, but he acted like he knew the place from birth.

"Ugh." This time, the gutteral sound came from him, as he put his hand in front of his mouth and nose for the stench of the dead bodies. There were so many of them. Some of them were already being bound and prayed for. "Open the gates! We are heading for the valley!" Cassandra shouted at the guards, who moved instantly. At the moment, they were still standing on the bridge towards Haven. The bridge was blocked off by two gates. They now walked over a sandy path, covered in snow. Simple battlements were set up here and there. Even carts had to make due as battlements. "Maker, it's the end of the world!" A man yelled in panic.

They passed some carts that were already burning. One of them even had the burnt remains of a human on it. "God…" He gasped as the stench of burnt flesh infiltrated his nostrils. But then it started again. A painful jolt up his arm and the mark that flashed green. This time it caught him off balance and he fell in the snow. He held his pained hand and gritted his teeth. Cassandra almost felt pity for him. Was he guilty? Was she wrong? What happened? She helped him up.

* * *

They didn't talk much. Cassandra didn't really see a point in it. IF he survived, they would learn him the language and she would make up for lost conversation by teaching him everything.

But the silence gave Mehenion time to think. But his thinking patterns were different. They didn't even seem to correlate with who he once was. Who SHE once was. Now his head was clear, he started to remember cleary who he was before the blast that ended him up in the fade. That life was no more.

It surprised him how much ease he had with letting go all that she was. The seeds were laid when he first looked to his own image. He didn't understand it yet, back then. But he remembered. This is who she wanted to be. But she...was no more. And tonight, or even before that, his life might end.

However, if the game was anything to go by, he would survive this. He would do what he always did when playing the game. He would immerse himself. He would roleplay. He knew that sooner or later, he would falter, and his real personality would shine through. He would come clean with them as soon as he knew enough words to explain everything he knew. But he could no longer be the way she was. He had to be strong now. Strong like she would like him to be.

He had no longer time to ponder how she got sucked in and how body and mind melted together. An explosion blasted them off the second bridge they came across. It threw them on the hard ice. No sooner had they scrambled themselves together or they were being attacked.

"Stay behind me!" She gestured as she charged towards a creature that reminded him of a Grim reaper. They were called "shades." But he had yet to learn the word they used here. He grabbed the wooden staff in advance. The second shade would come right about...NOW!" Before it fully emerged, he gave it a smack with the end of the staff.

"Uh oh." It didn't seem to do much damage. These creatures were a lot harder to kill than he thought. He also realised something else. Demons...smelled. This shade smelled musty and earthy, like something long dead that was dug up.

Now was the time to test how magic worked here. He shot a bolt of fire out of his hand. It missed the creature and only barely missed the seeker. "WATCH OUT!" She yelled as she ducked away, then glared at him. This was EXACTLY the reason why mages were feared around Thedas. "Whoops."

Note to self. There was no such thing as "friendly fire." And he would find out more things that didn't quite work the same here.

He took his staff in hand and used it as a spear before he remembered the staff could channel his magic. But it felt clumsy in his hands. It would most likely take practice. He rammed the staff against the ice and willed the thunder to shoot down the creatures. Trial and error but at last the creature fell and at the same time, Cassandra ended the creature she was fighting as well. Mehenion let out a sigh of relief. But Cassandra was less happy.

"Drop your weapon." She commanded, pointing at Mehenion's staff. Without much hesitation he dropped the staff he was holding, then let lightning form around his hand, causing her to step back. He lifted one eyebrow, although the white hairs were barely visible against his pale skin.

This guy didn't need a staff to be dangerous. She sighed and gestured him to pick it back up. "Better to keep that staff than burn my hair off, or the whole forest. The world burns enough as it is." She said, more to herself than to him, but she caught his confused eyes.

She gave him a couple of phials with a red liquid. She made a show of it, trying to make him understand that if you were hurt, these would make you better. Mehenion smiled. "You are enjoying this, aren't you?" She glared at him. She should remember that at least he came willingly. She was even trying to remind herself that it was her leading him and not the other way around, because again the boy wandered a while before her.

She gasped when she saw him hunch over a dead body, trying on his helmet, then laying it back and searching for Maker knows what. "What are you doing!" She yelled and yanked him backwards so he fell. The boy looked confused and startled. Then he frowned. "He dead." He gestured. "What of it?" Cassandra snarled.

Was this a custom among the Dalish? Because, for as far as she knew, looking at him, she saw a Dalish elf mage who played at being a mute. What if he WAS a mute, though. What if he WAS deaf? It would explain a lot, even though she had never heard of deaf mages. What must he think of her? She pulled him up, then sighed. "Come." She lead him forward.

Mehenion followed her for a while again before he took the lead again and charged headfirst towards the demons in front of them. "Demons." She said. She took good care to make sure he read her lips. "Demons." He repeated. Her face lit up. She nodded. He WAS deaf! He moved up closer now so he had a clearer aim. He rammed his hand against the chest of one the "shades" and made it turn to ice.

This wasn't a move he "learned" yet, before they went to the second rift in the game. So apparently the skill tree didn't hold any power here. Then perhaps nor did the class system. He stomped the frozen shade and shattered it to pieces.

Cassandra looked at him in horror. She saw the maniacal grin across his face. He was having FUN with this. This elf either had totally lost his marbles in that explosion at the temple OR he was possessed. He walked in front of her and shot a ball of fire towards a green demon. A wraith. His style was different from the mages she had seen before. Most, even the apostate, used the staff in battle.

Mehenion was having fun while he was testing the boundaries of what this body could do. He headbutted one of the demons, making Cassandra suppress a laugh. But it made him dizzy though. Not something to repeat. But they needed to be quick. They needed to get to the rift.


	3. Chapter 3

**disclaimer: The Dragon Age fanbase will be familiar to the explanations given in the story but I try to make it understandable for newcomers as well. Hope it helps. **

Above the fighting was a green...thing. A rift, Mehenion knew. A rift was a tear in the veil, the boundary that kept the worlds of demons and humans apart. However some creatures were skilled enough to break through this boundary.

All humanoid creatures from Thedas, except for the dwarves, had mages amongst them who could dream and converse with the fade. Although this brought great risk. Most mages were therefore, kept together in circles and guarded by templars. Because Maker knew that if you traveled to the fade, the afterlife, you could take unwelcome company back.

Demons could not usually take physical form in Thedas, so they had to possess a vessel. It was not unlike in his own world: Earth. Some people there too had powers to contact spirits from the veil. We call them "psychics."

Most mages were kept in these "circles" in Thedas. They were told to be there for the mages protection and to learn how to cope with their magic gifts, and to protect them from possession. However the circles were famed to be more prisons than schools, and they were made as protection for the non-magic folk, rather than for the mages themselves.

However some Elves, Elves who long ago refused to live as subservient creatures in the city ghetto's, were called Dalish. They lived in the Dales, in clans. Apart from some, many Dalish clans did not like to be in contact with humans and sometimes were outright aggressive to them. Each clan had one keeper, who was a mage, and usually one of two more than 3 mages could be in a clan and interchanging mages was a practice. The mages were trained by the keepers themselves.

A Dalish elf was easily recognised by the tattoos on their head, that represented their service to one of the Elvhen Gods. They called this practice "bloodwriting" and the tattoo that resulted from it "Vallaslin." The Dalish elves worked hard to preserve every bit of old Elven knowledge and culture they had and could get, however misguided.

That at least was the lore that Mehenion had actively remembered from playing the game and watching hours worth of videos about the game. So far however, everything seemed to match up and he would learn that the extent to which this world and the gameworld matched up was...uncanny.

* * *

By the time they arrived, the fight was almost over. Mehenion could get a few blasts in, but it was Varric firing the last shot. "Quickly! Before more come through!" But before Mehenion could react, Solas grabbed for his left hand and pointed the mark at the rift. Again, the mark and the rift reacted to each other. This time however, instead of just giving him unbearable pain, it made the rift go away.

"I...How…" Mehenion frowned. He looked at Solas. "I did nothing, the credit is yours." He said. "Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky, also placed that mark upon your hand." Solas explained. "I theorised the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the breach's wake. And it seems I was correct."

Cassandra intersected: "Meaning it could also close the breach itself.." The two elves looked at each other confused. Solas looked at Cassandra. She shrugged. "Somehow he doesn't seem to understand or hear anything of what I say." Varric put it through the test.

"Good to know. And here I thought we'd be ass deep in demons forever. The boy looked his direction. "He's not deaf, at least."Varric said, before he began his introduction. "Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong." He winked at Cassandra when he said that. It was clear. Those two didn't seem to like each other. Or at least Cassandra didn't like the dwarf.

Varric sized him up. "Does he have a name?" He asked. "Mehenion." The boy said. He nodded and made an awkward little bow. He didn't know how to say "pleased to meet you" yet, so that was all he could do.

"My name is Solas, if there need to be introductions. I'm pleased to see you still live." He too now sized the boy up.

"He means he kept that mark from killing you while you slept." Varric said. He sighed. "Let's just go." "Absolutely not! You're help is appreciated Varric but…" Cassandra started. "Have you been in the valley lately seeker? Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You need me." Varric interupted her. Mehenion looked back and forth.

Solas started to explain something to Cassandra. He told her that the mark that Mehenion bore, the mark that helped him close the rift, was very unusual, and even more so the control over said mark, even for a mage. Mehenion wasn't really listening as he didn't understand anything about it yet, anyway. And now he was being very interested in Varric's crossbow. "Yeah, Bianca and I go way back." Varric explained.

Solas was, just like Mehenion an elf. Although, the comparison stopped with both of them having pointy ears. Where Mehenion knew little of the world except for this faint knowledge, Solas knew loads about this world and the fade as well. Solas was an elf with a closely shaved head, so close shaved he seemed bald. He wore a light coloured sweater and a long necklace with some creatures cheekbone. When Mehenion had looked down, he noticed that Solas didn't wear any shoes but chose to bind his feet with wraps instead.

Varric almost looked like the entire opposite. He was a dwarf, reaching as high as his chest. He wore a long leather jacket and a red doublet like vest that he had wide open. And it looked as if every hair that Solas seemed to lack, could be found on Varric's chest. What dwarves lacked in height, they made up for in width. Especially males were wider and more muscular than humans and almost twice as wide as an Elf like Mehenion. On his back, Varric wore a crossbow with double arms who he christened "Bianca". Varric had blond hair and a nose that was broken at least once. His neck was decorated with a chain and a round pendant and his ears had earrings.

* * *

Varric took it upon himself to teach Mehenion some basic words, even though Cassandra told him not to bother because he was most likely to die. Even Solas seemed to share her sentiment. "You don't know that. He survived whatever happened at the temple of Sacred Ashes, so he might be a lot more hardy than he looks." Someone had to remain optimistic among this bunch of pessimists after all.

Soon Mehenion already knew the words for "yes", "no", "thank you" and how the races were called here. He also tried to teach him other things like short verbs. "Walk", "talk", "run", "fight." He accompanied all those words with small gestures, like a two finger puppet walking on his other hand.

Cassandra smiled as she heard the elf mumble under his breath. Solas took note of the simple but seemingly effect approach Varric took upon learning the boy his language. "How do you manage to teach him so well, Varric?" He asked. "As a merchant I often come across different people, and surprisingly, not all of them speak the common tongue. So sometimes I have to resort to these small signs to make myself clear." He explained.

"And ofcourse, if he doesn't know the language, how is he ever going to read the latest chapter of "Hard in Hightown?" This last statement got an "Ugh" from Cassandra, but Mehenion seemed to laugh. "What are you laughing at, elf?" She asked him. Mehenion looked at Varric for a translation. Then he imitated her. "Ugh." This time it was Solas who laughed. Cassandra tried to suppress another "ugh." She just hoped to get to the forward camp quickly.

"What is he doing?" Varric asked when he saw Mehenion fight. "He doesn't fight like any mage I know." Mehenion in the meanwhile was finding out more ways of how he could kill shades. A large blast of fire shot out of his bare hands, setting the shade ablaze. Then he unceremoniously rammed the tail end through the creatures body. Mehenions hands crackled with electricity as he made his way to the next demon. He used his staff to channel the energy out his hands and into the creature.

"Maker help him…"Cassandra sighed. But Mehenion got the hang of it soon enough and the shades started to fall in droves and he started to get the knack of closing rifts. He also always seemed to be half a mile ahead of his group. "Do you even know where you're going?" Varric asked. "You know the way?" The boy nodded and pointed to the breach. Varric snorted.

Mehenion moved his hair behind his ears and stopped for a moment. Somehow this still felt like a weird dream, but his pointy ears were really there. He smiled. He then noticed the group looking at him. He waved their worries away and went on ahead again. "Talk later…" He uttered. Solas had the question on his lips. The boy was Dalish, clearly away from his clan. But what brought him here? The question had burned in him ever since he was sent away to the rift after caring for the guy. He wondered how lost and out of place the boy felt. And most of all, he wondered why the boy kept looking at him in this strange way. What did he know?

* * *

Chancellor Rodrick was a middle aged man with a sour expression on his face. He was dressed in a long robe. Chantry Robes, Mehenion knew. "Ah..Here they come." The chancellor said. Leliana tried to introduce Mehenion, but the chancellor wouldn't hear any of it.

"I know who he is." He barked out some orders. "Order me? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat." Cassandra snarled back.

"And you are ...hey! Where do you think you're going!" The Chancellor was distracted by Mehenion, who clearly didn't have time for any of it and just wanted to get on with it. The elf snarled and glared at the chancellor, his left fist clenched. "No time." The mark in his hand glowed dangerously and he pushed the chancellor aside.

He knew this line. He knew they were going to fight over which way to go and let it depend on him. But the less time he had with the chancellor, the better. "That behavior might get you killed, son." Varric warned as they too went past. Leliana followed them.

"Wait, where are you going?" She asked. "Apparently our prisoner knows the way." Cassandra scathed. "Head to the valley and gather as much people as you can." She asked Leliana. But Mehenion had no single clue where he was going exactly. This part was of a cutscene and they showed them trudging through the snow to get to the rift where Cullen was.

He frowned. He wanted to take the shortest route, but how did he make that clear to the rest of the group. Somehow he got them to understand and now looked at Cassandra to take the lead. The woman sighed and rolled her eyes.

The boy shivered as they went through the snow. He shivered ostentatiously as he looked at Solas' bare feet. How is he not cold? He thought. The elf smiled at him, then showed him the soles of his feet. Years of walking barefoot had grown a decent layer of calluses that now acted as a sole. Mehenion smiled and nodded.

* * *

When they finally arrived at the temple, or the ruin that was left of it, they were greeted by wounded soldiers and another rift to close. As soon as it was done, another man rushed towards them. He congratulated Cassandra for the work on the rift. "Do not congratulate me, commander. This is the prisoners doing." She looked at Mehenion, who looked startled.

"I hope they're right about you. We lost a lot of people getting you here." The commander said, then looked at Cassandra again. "Not the most talkative person, is he?" He asked her. "Well, he actually doesn't understand a word of what you said. No one knows why." She explained. "He has picked up a few words here and there. He will learn many more as soon as this is over." He promised. "If he survives.." Cassandra retorted. Varric looked at her. "Aah seeker, ever the optimist." Cassandra rolled her eyes.

The stench was harder to bear now, as they moved forward into the ruin and passed the scorched bodies. They died in agony, the pain still etched into their faces. Their company only stopped because they heard the sound of retching behind them.

Mehenion looked even more pale than he already was, and hunched over, leaning against one of the walls. Below him lay a puddle of whatever was left in his stomach. The boy wiped his mouth with his sleeve and moved forward, his face contorted into a snarl. His snarl turned to a gasp however when he saw the breach. Up close it looked even more menacing and dangerous than from afar.

"The breach is a long way up." Varric said, also in awe. Leliana followed up on them. "Thank the maker. You're here." Cassandra started issuing orders. This….meant business. She now addressed him. "This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?" Mehenion looked up, swallowed, then resolutely nodded...

And again he wanted to take the short route first. That meant jumping straight over the balustrade, apparently. But Cassandra wasn't going to get him killed now that they were so close. "No." She shook her head clearly in front of him, then pointed the way.

"This rift was the first, and it is the key." Solas now explained. "If we seal it, perhaps we seal the breach." "You know this stuff is red lyrium, seeker." Varric said, looking at the red spires. "I see it varric." There was no need telling Cassandra, nor Solas to tell them not to touch it. But he had to pull Mehenion back again as he seemed eager to touch it. He saw the mischievous grin on the elf's face. He warned him again for good measure. "Not good. Ok? Ok." He sighed. He understood why Cassandra had this frown on her face now. This boy was like an infant.

"Keep the sacrifice still." A disembodied voice left the boy totally bewildered and looking around him in shock. Then another voice spoke, this time a woman. "Someone. Help me!" "That is divine Justinia's voice!" Cassandra said. They came closer to the rift now. Again the same voice, crying for help. Mehenion lifted his hand, where the mark started glowing again. "What's going on in here." That was his voice but a disembodied voice screamed as well. It sounded further away.

"That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you, but.." Cassandra said. Above them, a big dark shape formed, with two red eyes, in front of it, what could only be their divine. "What's going on?" His voice sounded much further away. "Run while you can! Warn them!" Her voice cried out. "We have an intruder." It was a male voice. "Slay the elf." Wait, What? With a flash of light the vision disappeared.

Cassandra fired a barrage of questions onto him. "You were there! Who attacked? And the divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?" But the only thing the boy could say was: "I..I..I…"

"Echoes of what happened here. The fade bleeds into this place." Luckily Solas was there to explain. "This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. But doing so, most likely attracts attention from the other side." "That means demons! Stand Ready!" The soldiers stood ready, Archers nocked and drew their bows, waiting in tension for what was to come.

On her sign, Mehenion lifted his hand let the mark do its magic. And just as Solas told it would, it worked. The rift opened itself and shot out a green spark. It materialised itself into a huge monster. And it was huge. If you saw it on your screen, it was big. But if you saw it for real, it looked unbeatable. Mehenion let out a shrill scream. He had to resist every fiber in his body to not seek coverage behind Cassandra or Solas. It looked like a demon was meant to look: long horns, skin like hardened lava, a beastly grimace and tall as a building.

"We must strip it's defenses! Wear it down!" Cassandra ordered. Wait a minute...Whenever he tried to disrupt the rifts earlier, the monsters seemed in pain. Mehenion ran and searched for a safe place, close enough so the mark would connect. He lifted his arm and started to work on the rift. But this rift was much larger than the ones they had worked on before. But it worked. As soon as the rift was disrupted, the demon sunk to his knees. As fast as he could, he started to blast magic at the creature as well.

But as soon as the rift regained its strength, other demons started pouring out as well. "Help me. Keep them away!" He yelled while he tried to work on the rift again. The shades tried to attack him. Slowly Mehenion leaned down. "Let's do this Neanderthal style." He mumbled to himself, while he picked up a rock and started bashing the shade's skull in, doing his best to avoid its claws. Blood, or whatever it was, splattered over his face.

But now at least he could concentrate on the mark. The little ones were fairly easy, But the big one took a lot of work...and it was sapping his strength. That, or it could be the red lyrium crystals that grew even here. But the demon, pride, it was called, was now also starting to fail. One more time should do it. "Now! Seal the rift! Do it!" Cassandra yelled. Now was the time to give it his all...just a little more… With a blast, the rift imploded. He heard the people around him cheer, but then everything went black.

* * *

He didn't recognise anything when he woke. He was in a wooden cabin of sorts. He looked around. He was laying on a soft bed, with soft blankets and fluffy cushions. They changed his clothes. He was now wearing a form fitting beige suit. He looked towards the sound of the door.

Another elf came in, holding a crate. "Oh!" She seemed shocked by the fact that he was awake. "I didn't know you were awake. I swear!" Why did she sound like he was going to beat her? He could only frown. That seemed to set her into a fright even more. The elf fell to her knees and bowed. "I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.

"You're back in Haven, my Lord." She explained. "They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand." This was becoming ridiculous. He wasn't going to hurt her or anything.. He couldn't understand half of what she said. He just looked at her sheepishly. "It's all everyone talked about for the last three days."

What happened for God's sake? He looked at her, feeling helpless. "Oh..I am terribly sorry." She said, and bowed again. "I forgot you do not speak our language." She picked herself up again. "I'm certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you've wakened. She said "at once." The elf tried to explain. Mehenion frowned, then nodded. "Where..?" He asked. "In the chantry. With the lord chancellor. At once, she said." The elf ran away. Mehenion worried about her. What made her so skittish? And how was she so skinny?

He got out of bed, but immediately felt lightheaded and had to sit down again. He waited till he had found his strength again and slowly, carefully rose up. He looked at himself. The suit made him look thin, really thin, almost as thin as she was. There was no mirror to check himself in. He looked around. At the table next to his bed stood an instrument. A lute. Softly he let his fingers glide over the strings. He decided to go look for Cassandra, since he couldn't play the instrument anyway.

He saw a letter on another desk. "Huh?" He couldn't make anything out of it. "Great. Now I need to learn how to read as well…" He moaned. He braced his eyes against the light, then looked up. That thing was still there… He couldn't completely close the breach. Once he looked around, he saw that what seemed like the whole village, was there to greet him. They whispered about him and it made him nervous.

"That's him. That's the Herald of Andraste." Someone whispered. People were whispering about him. God knew what they said. They weren't throwing rotten tomatoes at him yet, so it wasn't that bad, most likely. He looked to where the chantry might be. Most likely it would be the biggest building. And soon enough he found it. Mehenion stepped in. She wasn't here. Was she perhaps down? Where he came from before they went to defeat that...thing?" But the more to the back he walked, the louder the voices. They were behind that door. They were talking about him too. He decided to eavesdrop before he walked in.

"I do not believe that." Cassandra's voice said. The Chancellor was with her. "That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the chantry." "My duty is to serve the principles on which the chantry was founded, chancellor. As is yours." Mehenion took a deep breath and opened the door.

As soon as he walked in, the chancellor wanted him chained. Cassandra, as always, was there to save him. "Disregard that. And leave us." Apparently her words held more weight, since the guards obeyed her immediately. "Uuuuh…" He started."I will explain later."Cassandra reassured him, before she and Leliana started to debate again about the breach.

The whole conversation went completely over his head, but he did see irritation in their eyes. He just kept looking back to forth and startled when Cassandra slammed a book on the table.

"You know what this is, Chancellor." She glared at him. "A writ from the divine, granting us the authority to act." Mehenion recognised the symbol on the book. He followed Cassandra as she started making her way towards the chancellor, seemingly threatening him. Mehenion let a sigh of relief when the man was gone and he was not alone in it.

He looked at the book, then felt the pressure of the two women looking at him. "Huh?" Cassandra frowned. "Pay attention, elf." She growled. "We need you for this. You have the mark. We cannot do this without you." She said, as simple as possible. Then she put out her hands, asking for a handshake. He nodded, then shook her hand and nodded again. There was no turning back now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: So. From this point forward, as soon as our dear elf has found his tongue, you'll start to see some changes in his "sweet personality", but all in time, ofcourse. ;) Hope you like. **

Lessons were gruelling, but Mehenion seemed to take to them like a fish to water. It was clear that he wanted to master the language as fast as possible as well. Ambassador Josephine took her extra job as teacher seriously and taught him not only Thedasian, but etiquette as well. And when she didn't have time, one of the lay sisters of the chantry took over. He had lessons all day and in the evening, it felt like his head was about to burst.

He was usually found in the inn where he was doing his best to strike up conversation with the local inhabitants. They found the pale elf strange, though, and the fact that he was a mage, scared many of them. But he was also the Herald, now. So they did their best not to show him.

And in the evenings, when they finally let him go for some down time, he was usually found around the fireplace, sitting on a log and listening to Varric's wild tales. This one evening wasn't any different. And as Mehenion was the first to arrive, Varric had a chance to talk to him, alone.

"So, are you holding up alright?" Mehenion looked confused. "How are you, kid? You go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas, to joining the armies of the faithful." He explained. "Most of them would have spread that out a little." Mehenion didn't know how to reply. "Fine. I guessing. They make prepare...prepa...they make ready. I study." Varric laughed at his loss for words.

"You mean preparations. Yeah. And I've seen you study hard. Make sure that head of yours doesn't explode." He winked, earning him a chuckle. "So..." He started. They both went to sit down. "Can you tell me a bit more about yourself? Like how come you couldn't speak our language? You look Dalish, but I know even the Dalish have a decent understanding of the common tongue."

Mehenion frowned. That was all there was, basically. He looked Dalish. But he didn't have any memories of his clan family. "Not yet. Not remembering enough. Not knowing enough words. In time." He said. "Alright Snowwhite." Varric chuckled. "Snowwhite?" Mehenion repeated. "Yeah because you look...well…you know…" Mehenion laughed. He had some fair chances to look at himself in a mirror or a puddle or anything lately. One might even say it made him rather vain, looking for his reflection. And...Snow white fitted his description better than that woman out of a fairytale. Mehenion stretched his hands to warm them by the fire.

"So...How do you like this...inquisition?" Varric asked to start a conversation. "Restoring order, yes...name...no...bad memories…" The boy slurred his sentences, still looking for the words. But it was a major improvement. Sure, his sentences weren't grammatically correct yet. But Varric seemed to make an effort of gently correcting his mistakes. Some of the people of Haven seemed to shy away from that. After all, he was the Herald.

Varric looked up. "Where do you have memories from the Inquisition?" His tone wasn't accusing, just really interested. "Home. Reading history." Mehenion explained, while stretching the stiffness out of his body. "So you like to read." Varric tried. The elf nodded. "But cannot read this yet." He sounded sad. "All in time, kid." He chuckled.

"How are you doing?" Mehenion now asked. Varric expressed his doubts. "For days now we've been staring at the breach, seeing demons and maker knows what fall out of it. Bad for morale would be an understatement." He sighed. "Cassandra saying you free to go…" Mehenion half mumbled. "Yeah. I'd like to think I'm as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy but this…" He looked at the boy. Most likely he still only half understood of what he said, but being able to unwind, felt good for once. He didn't really get the feeling he could do that with many people around Haven.

"Many people died on that mountain...Thousands. I was almost one of them. And now there's that hole in the sky. Even I can't just walk away from that." Varric explained. "Not me.."He frowned "...also?" Varric gave him the right word. "Perhaps especially not you. I mean, you've got that mark on your hand." Mehenion looked at it. "Does it bother you?" Mehenion shaked his head. "Tingling, sometimes, like falling asleep…Will put it to good use." He promised. They were silent for a while and Mehenion looked at the sky as night was starting to fall.

He was almost startled out of a dream when Varric started to speak again. "So...I saw you fight. The least I can say is that your techniques are...interesting.." Mehenion chuckled. "Yeah...hearing that more." He replied. "I not think normal staff is...good for me. I will go seeing smith tomorrow to make it better." Varric seemed surprised. "Most mages seem quite comfortable with a staff...a little too comfortable, if you ask me." He said. But the boy's reply surprised him even more. "Yes, but they used to it. Never knew any way...any other way. Me not like most mages." "You can say that alright."

* * *

The next morning he went to see Solas. He hadn't spoken to the elf that saved his life yet. He had earlier visited Adan, the apothecary who, together with Solas, gave him his first care before he was dragged to the stocks. As a thanks, he had given the man valuable notes he found in a house he discovered. Cautiously he approached Solas.

"Ah. The chosen of Andraste. The blessed hero, sent to save us all." Mehenion blushed. "Stop it, you." He chuckled. "I...never taking moment to say, thank you, for saving life." Solas smiled. "It is alright. You were busy with your lessons after all." But Mehenion shook his head. "No. It is rude." Solas looked at him better. Without all the dirt and grime and blood, he looked even more white, and even younger than before.

"I see your lessons had their effect already. I hope they are not too harch on you." Everyone seemed worried about the young elf's curriculum. "Mostly me hard on me. Them very kind. Giving me time. Time I not have." His face hardened as he looked at the breach.

"We will find a way to seal the breach. I have shared my theories with the lady Seeker. A second attempt might work, provided we give your mark more power. The same level of power to open the breach in the first place." He explained. "How?" Mehenion seemed like a curious one. "We might have to ask the mages or templars for help in the future." Mehenion frowned. "Why not both?" He asked.

"At this point, I doubt any of them will speak to us yet. But in time, we may have to pick a side." The boy fell silent, then spoke again. "I hear you are expert in rifts. I liking to know more." Mehenion looked at his hand that started to tingle again. He balled his fist and stretched it until the numbness died away and feeling returned back to his hand. He went to stand next to Solas, who was gazing into the far and wide.

"I journeyed deep into the fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilisations. I watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars, both famous and forgotten…" He turned to face him, then let out a light chuckle. "You did not understand a word, did you.." The boy looked at him and slowly shook his head. "No...But perhaps in time...I will." Solas lifted an eyebrow, then nodded.

"Every great war has its heroes. I just wonder what kind you will be." Mehenion frowned. "Kind who wins. No other choice." He sounded resolute. "And right you are." Solas said. "I will stay then...To seal the breach." Mehenion looked at him, sheepishly. Solas explained a bit about apostate mages and how they were at odds with the chantry forces. He also added the fact that elves weren't exactly...respected. Did he suspect anything? What exactly did he see in the fade? "I will speaking you later." Mehenion said, and with a short wave of his hand he left.

Mehenion had been going to the smith of Haven, a man named Harritt with a large moustache, after earlier lessons. He had decided to "test the limits of gameplay" further by trying to combine classes. He had talked to the man over some crude sketches of alterations to his staff. He hoped to pick it up just before his lessons started and perhaps he could even practice a little with it. It came down to the fact that he wanted a "magical halbert", a staff with a sharp point and a blade, without it losing it's magical properties. He had checked his finances and saw that he scraped by just enough to make it happen.

He went past the gate, to his left. Haven was small enough to find his way around fairly quickly. "Hello." He greeted the smith. The man nodded while he was working on something. Mehenion took a box to sit on and watched as the man slammed his hammer on a piece of metal. "Oh ofcourse. Yours is ready, Herald. If you give me a minute…" Mehenion nodded. You had to mold the iron while it was hot. One mistake could make the sword break in battle.

"Good. Here it is. I hope it is to your liking, lord Herald." Mehenion ignored his title and looked at his new weapon. "It is..perfect…" He whispered while stroking the blade, just next to it's sharp edge. No demon would be safe at the business end of this weapon. Mehenion paid his debt and bowed to the smith. He had no time to practice now. His time would come. But now he felt like he was already getting late for his lessons.

**Next chapter it's about time to send our elf camping I think. **


	5. Chapter 5

After about a month and a half, Josephine felt that Mehenion was ready enough for his first mission. Day in day out of studying the language by both reading and writing and talking had helped Mehenions communication immeasurably. Ofcourse, there were flaws. He still didn't really conjugate every verb correctly or he had to search for his words, but since they had a breach to seal and a world to save, she begrudgingly agreed to let him learn most of the language "on the go."

Besides the lessons to master the language, there were also the lessons on Thedas history, the chant of light and etiquette. Mehenion really seemed to enjoy the history lessons. Outside the lessons he was usually found with a book and a tea in the tavern, or found to talk to the Elven apostate. And as much as he loved history and the etiquette lessons, he almost despised the chantry sisters way of teaching the chant of light.

He understood its importance. Many of Thedas were firm believers and he would at least need to have a firm understanding of what the chantry teachings meant for people in the day to day lives. "It is as if they want to...change...me...but it is not my believe." They heard the boy complain to Solas once. Thus the best thing they felt they could do, was to go back to the scholastic approach and teach the chant of light as a piece of history, a piece of history that was undeniably entwined with every Thedasian, from the poorest to the most Royal. The boy, however didn't trust the chantry, nor did he like the name "Inquisition" for reasons that were yet unknown. In this, the elven apostate didn't help... at all.

But the more they got to know him, the more able he was into making himself understandable, the more of an argumentative spirit came to surface, along with that scholastic spirit they already saw in the lessons. And when he wasn't with his nose in some book or listening to people's stories around Haven, he was practicing. All kept a prying eye on the boy, waiting until he would be ready to do what they had planned for him. He would be the figurehead of the Inquisition. The Herald of Andraste and to be "The knight on shining steed" as he jokingly put it. He would break the mage rebellion, put the templars to heel, gain important allies and most important of all: "stitch the sky".

Mehenion was walking to the war room in the back of the chantry, accompanied by Cassandra. "Does it trouble you?" She asked when she saw him staring at his hand. "It's fine...it's just...it did not do what needed when needed. It did not close the breach." He answered truthfully. "Solas believes a second attempt might work, but the mark needs more power. The same power used to open the breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by." Mehenion smiled. "I'm guessing not.. But...you have an idea, do you not?" He asked. "We do." Cassandra said, pointedly.

She introduced him to the advisors of the war table. He'd seen all of them by now. He didn't have much of a conversation with Leliana yet, but he had talked to Cullen near the smithee and asked for some pointers and Cullen had happily obliged, even though he was more of a sword and shield kind of warrior. And Josephine was of course heavily invested in his lessons. She had taught him how to walk the walk and talk the talk. She had taught him how to address a noble and how most certainly NOT to address a noble.

But now, things would become more serious. Commander Cullen commanded the chantry forces, the troops at the Inquisitions disposal. He looked every bit as a knight in shining armor was imagined as. His blonde hair was slightly curly and neatly swept back. He looked battleworn, but still ideally pretty, the light scar above his mouth did nothing to break his beauty. Was Mehenion blushing? He hoped not. He was clad in armor as if he slept with it and his neck was adorned by fur that made Mehenions fingers itch. He wanted to pet it, feel the fur between his fingers, but doing so would be…weird, to say the least.

Josephine, their ambassador and chief diplomat was a foreign beauty with dark skin and hair. She looked like a mix between Indian and Arabian, if there was such a thing in this world. But there wasn't. Josephine had told him she was a lady, the oldest daughter of a long line of Antivan nobles and heir of the title. Josephine was a woman with a tongue like a silver dagger. She understood the politics and the game of talking up nobles. She could sound like she was complimenting a noble, while insulting him to his very core. She understood how to get nobles to the side of the inquisition and...she was very passionate about her work, to the point one would call her a "workaholic." That, and she made wearing gold look classy and made Mehenion almost jealous. If only he could pull that off. But any colour or darker shade made him look even more ghostly pale and white clothing made him almost invisible against the snowy landscape of Haven.

"Andaran Atish'an." She spoke. Mehenion smiled. "You speak Elven too." He said surprised. "Well...you just heard the entirety of it. I'm afraid." Mehenion grinned. "My Elven is not much better, my lady." He said and made a courtly bow that made her giggle. "Very good." She said. "I would have liked to spend more time with you, training you before you go out but time is of the essence here." She pressed. Mehenion nodded.

He looked back to Cassandra, who now introduced Leliana. She called her "Sister Leliana" but she looked nothing like the other laysisters of the chantry, with her armor of chainmail and leather and her purple hood. She was their spymaster, as Cassandra so tactfully put it. She had contacts and spies who could reach where forces and favours couldn't. It was her who sent the ravens out to tell Thedas that the Inquisition was born again.

"Nice to meet you all. I hearing...hear" he corrected "... from lady Cassandra that you have a plan." He said. "Straight to business eh." Cullen teased him. "Well, as lady Josephine said, time is running. Best make most of it." Mehenion winked. Was it now Cullen who was blushing?

Leliana proposed they should seek out the rebel mages for help but Cullen was adamant that the templars would be the better asset. Both were starting to argue, an argument that would last a while until Mehenion made his fully calculated decision. And that would prove to be hard. But neither group would speak to the Inquisition yet. They had denounced the whole Inquisition, and an elf as a Herald in particular. Mehenion rolled his eyes. "Naturally…" He sighed.

This was not uncommon. The chantry felt threatened by the Inquisition. With an Elven Herald, who might not even believe in Andraste or the Maker, The Inquisition could break the already brittle foundations of the chantry. With Divine Justinia dead, they lost their compass and to lash out was their natural response. Calling Blasphemy and heresy was a church's natural response to what they deemed "against their religion.

After all, when he thought of it, The Chantry so resembled the Christian Church in his own world. "It is not my plan to breaking chantry, just reminding them where is place." Mehenion said. "Excuse me?" Cassandra gasped. "Chantry is FOR people, not ABOVE people. Many might know, but people in power forget. We have to make right...make sure this...Inquisition not do that." He explained.

"Saving the world must not getting to our heads." He continued. His Thedasian was still broken, his heavy accent, from wherever it would be, shone through. "They are right doubting me, us. We must make them trust. Not easy. I do not believe. I cannot pretend. But I...wonder. What if it IS true? What if it is NOT just stories?" Mehenion looked at the roof. "Your stories are better than ours. More...believable." He said. "Well, that's good isn't it?" Mehenion simply shrugged.

"About "Inquisition", name has bad taste in mouth, yes?" Cassandra lifted an eyebrow. "How so?" And where was this boy from anyway? Was he perhaps from beyond Thedas? Did they have Elves there? She didn't know, but she decided to hear him out, anyway. "Where I come from, Inquisition power went to heads. They burning many euh…." He put his head next to Cassandra's. "What is word for people who do nothing wrong? Ah..innocent.."

He then continued. "They burning many innocent people for being witch, which was not true. But they hurt them to get answers they want to hear. They talk about bring order, but what is order?" He looked at the four of them. "What is order for this Inquisition. Because if it will be hurting people for answers they not have, then I want no part in that." He declared. His youth and idealism clearly shone through. There would be pain. But if they could bring it to a minimum, They would be happy.

"Where DO you come from, Mehenion?" Cassandra wanted to know. "You talk of "our place", you have an accent none of us can place, and you seem to remember nothing of what happened in the fade or before, yet you know your way around Haven." She started. "The first time, when I went to bring you to the rift, you beckoned me as if you knew exactly where to go. You.." But she was cut off. "I cannot yet say. I seeking for answers." He told them.

"But then at least tell us what you know!" Cullen said, but his voice was getting more anxious, more inpatient. It didn't sound angry, just confused and tired, as if they've been talking for hours. "Shouldn't rest of circle know?" Mehenion asked. "Varric, Solas?" Cassandra softly laid a hand on his shoulder. "They will get to know in time." She said.

And so he told them. He told them that there was a blast and somehow he got "sucked in" by a force. He told them he was from another world, beyond the fade. A world where this world, he made a circle above his head, was just fiction, created by marvelous spirits who made it into an interactive story. A story he never really played to it's full end. He told them about Corypheus, but not in exact words. He told them that he was an ugly Tevinter Magister turned darkspawn and that he would convert mages and templars into abominations by using red lyrium. He also told them about the possibility of time changing. Perhaps nothing here played out like the story. But they would at least be aware of possibilities.

He didn't however tell them how far he went into the game. He didn't want them to mourn the passing of Haven before it came to pass. He didn't tell them about Skyhold yet, but if that time would come, he would be able to lead them forward, with Solas help. The way to Skyhold was another cutscene where they didn't completely show him the way to go.

He didn't tell them how much he scourged the internet and already found out who Solas was. The elf should at least be able to come forth with it himself. But he would need his help and he would contact him, perhaps in the fade, far away from prying eyes.

"So" Cassandra started "If you know all this, it might give us a head start." She sounded hopeful. "Yes and no." Mehenion explained. "There is no say about how much I will remember, later. When ever I could not figure out something in game, I would look up. But this no game. This very real. And far away from information." He took a breath. "But yes. I MIGHT know where to go. I MIGHT know where to find certain items, I MIGHT know which places to avoid, at least until stronger. I.."

Cullen interjected. "What effect did choosing the templars or mages have in your...game?" He wanted to know. If so much of the game already lined up, then perhaps… "If we choose to save the templars, he will corrupt the mages. If we choose the mages, he will corrupt the templars. It is matter of choosing the lesser evil. In game we have to choose. I do not know, perhaps we can save both, perhaps not at all." He paced the length of the war room.

"How did you, in this "game", make the chantry and nobles to listen to you?" She looked at Mehenion. "The fact that you are not even of this world..apparently...might frighten them even more. It does however explain why you didn't speak our language." Mehenion didn't adress her question right away, however.

Then she seemed to startle. "But if you played this, then how do you NOT know the language?" Mehenion laughed at this. "In the game, you talk English, One of my languages. And even if you did not, there would be ...worlds on the screen. Translations flying above your heads." He explained. Josephine nodded. "One of your languages…" She looked at him. "Well, yes. There are over a hundred languages where I come from. I only speak two well enough." He explained.

"But, How WILL we approach the chantry or the others for help? Will we talk to this Mother Giselle or isn't there one, here?" He asked them. He wanted to get to business by now. "A cleric by the name of Mother Giselle asked to speak to you. She is currently helping refugees in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe." Leliana said, only a little surprised that he knew.

"I guess they aren't all like that Rodric, are they? Let's go then. Around….here? Ah..yes, here." He said while he searched for the place on the map. "You should look for ways to expand the Inquisitions influence while you're there." Cullen said. He let out a small cough. "I am sure you have experience with that, from back home…" Mehenion let out a small laugh. "I do, but how will we get there? I guess not by magic or fast traveling." He asked.

Cullen spoke again. "You should also go look by the Redcliffe farms. There's a horsemaster who could provide us with good horses. He goes by the name of Dennet. We will need those." He explained. Leliana continued. "The Hinterlands are about a short days march from here. Our scouts have already established a camp on the terrain. One of them, Scout Harding, will fill you in, once you are there."

She handed over a map of the terrain, neatly tucked in a cylindrical holder. She also included a map of Thedas itself where she marked the way to the Hinterlands with a dotted line. Mehenion checked the map of Thedas, getting a worried glance from Cassandra, who helped him and turned the map the right way round. Mehenions cheeks coloured. He was holding the map upside down.

* * *

The way towards the Hinterlands was a lovely opportunity to bring his comrades up to speed with what had been said in the war room. Solas looked worried. "No worries Solas. I didn't spill your dirty little secret." Mehenion thought. "You sure waste no moment to tell everyone." Cassandra said. "No. Sooner they know, better." He told them that secrets would fester. Secrets were only good towards strangers and enemies. A short sideways glance flitted to Solas.

He was the only one who seemed to notice, since he was trying to keep his distance from the company. Mehenion would speak to him later. In private. In the meantime he made merry and tried to include Solas, keep him from worrying. He knew from seeing various playthroughs that, the warmer and nicer you were to him, the more likely he was to almost forfeit his plan. Perhaps in this "playthrough" he would abandon it all together. But he needed help. And although Mehenion wasn't a female elf, he would try his very best nevertheless.

With only a little pause for rest they arrived to the camp shortly before nightfall. Scout Harding greeted them immediately. Lace Harding was a dwarf. Unlike dwarves in some folklore, female dwarves in Thedas didn't sport beards. Lace had freckles across the bridge of her nose and long golden blonde hair, intricately woven into a braided hairdo that made

Mehenion wondered who ever had time and skill to do their hair like that. He himself had kept his hair loose. A feat he never seemed to accomplish at home, where he usually clipped his hair together in a ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. He might do the same here once it would become bothersome.

"We all heard the stories. We know what you did at the breach." She explained who she was and what her function was for the Inquisition. "Harding huh? Ever been to Kirkwall's Hightown?" Varric piped up. "Can't say I have, why?" Varric tried to crack a joke but was disrupted by a disgusted noise from Cassandra and a snort from Mehenion.

Harding explained they already tried to secure horses from the horsemaster. But they couldn't get through the fighting. It even spread towards the crossroads. They better help, no time to lose. Their long awaited rest at the camp would have to wait, even though Mehenions feet were sore. They took a moments pause to gather themselves, stretch their muscles from the long walk and get some food in their bellies. The tents were already propped up. Good. Mehenion couldn't think of having any sorts of energy left for that tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

They left for the crossroads immediately. Because of his experience, he still knew where to go to get there. He mumbled a few foreign curses while he almost tripped on the unsteady ground. "Time to test out my new weapon, I guess." He said, hopeful. But his hopeful glee soon faded and he felt becoming overwhelmed. These were not NPC's, these were real people. People who, most likely, only fought on orders from superiors.

"End this now! I can still spare your life." He yelled, but his voice sounded shrill as his stomach turned and twisted. Demons he could handle. As long as he didn't think about the possibility that they too were only victims of their faith. "Back me up!" He heard Cassandra yell, bringing him back to the here and now. If he couldn't set himself over killing others, he should at least make sure that his own weren't slaughtered. This was war. There was no time for weak sentiment.

With some help of Cullens training he used his halberd to full potential. He'd use it as a staff for ranged combat, but whenever one of his opponents came too close, he would stick them with the pointy end. His staff looked every bit a real halberd, but there was no mistaking the staff that served as it's base. He would even use his magic to make the halberd give ice cold or fiery hot piercing qualities. Mehenion took a short pause.

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Solas wanted to know. "Honestly? I have no idea. Wasn't exactly the most sportive person around." Mehenion replied to truth. "There is more of them!" He yelled and charged forward. "Forward." He thought. "Fade walk…" How did they do this? Perhaps the trick was not to think about it too much? Just like he didn't when he almost set Cassandra on fire the first time he killed a demon. He'd figure that out later.

"That's all of them." She said. Her face and clothes were splattered with blood and he guessed he didn't really look any better. He crouched down to one of his slain adversaries. "So young." He felt a lump catch in his throat, but he had to think about the fact that the young man chose his fate. The villagers who got caught in the fray, didn't. "So, the villagers are safe?" He asked while trying to control his voice. Killing these people had always been a mindless mashing of control buttons until the red bar above their head had run empty.

He walked towards a puddle and started cleaning his weapon and face. He looked up at the banner, sided by two of their soldiers, who both saluted him with their hand on their heart. Mehenion nodded at them, then touched the eye that was drawn on the banner. The Inquisition logo. The eye was crossed by an upside down sword, surrounded in this case by the fiery tendrils of a black sun. It was supposed to inspire awe, and with him at the head, it would,...in time. He looked back to the puddle, then took some water to wash his face again.

"Herald of Andraste?" A voice behind him sounded. Mehenion turned around to the chantry sister. Just like the chancellor she wore a robe that was white in the front and back, but a crimson red at the sides. She wore a red overthrow of some kind, like he knew nuns used to have back home. The red was embroidered with golden forms, shooting up like flames. Around her neck was a chain of office. Her hood was however most special. It enveloped her head in crimson and had a white inverted triangal frontpiece that tapered from above her brows to the back of her head in a high arc. Mother Giselle was a darkskinned woman somewhere in her late forties or mid fifties. She was a softspoken woman, but wisdom marred her every sentence.

"I hadn't pictured the Herald of Andraste so young, however." She sounded worried. Mehenion felt uncomfortable and averted his gaze. "Still not used to "Herald" thing though, but yes. That is what they call me." He replied. His accent ran thick. "You have asked for me, Mother Giselle." He started. She nodded. "I know of the Chantry's denouncement and I am familiar with those behind it." she started. "I won't lie to you. Some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the next Divine. Some are simply terrified, so many people, senselessly taken from us…" Mehenion nodded. "Even here, today…" He added.

The Chantry, he remembered, was like the Catholic church. On top of the hierarchy sat the Divine. She was like the pope. And just like in medieval Europe, there were two popes, two Divines, both declaring the other false. In this case, the Divine from Tevinter, or the Black Divine, was always a male, however the other was always a woman. Blowing up the Temple of Sacred Ashes, was like blowing up the Saint Peter's Basilic in Rome, with the pope and all the cardinals still in it and without faith, the people lost all hope. They felt lost and without direction.

"Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics that you and the Inquisition are no demon to be feared. They've heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe." Mother Giselle explained. "Will they listen? I can not even speak your language without mistakes." Mehenion panicked. The woman chuckled. "You are doing pretty fine on your own. And you are no longer alone."

She took a breath. "Let me put it this way. You need not convince ALL of them, you just need some of them to..doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you will receive the time you need." Mehenion nodded. "Thank you for your wise words." He said. "But you make it sound easy…" Mehenion looked at his feet. "I don't know if you are touched by fate or sent to help us, but I..hope. And hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call as they will listen to no other." Mehenion frowned. Some of the words were still hard to understand for him. "Excuse me? What is….rallying?" He asked. "You will inspire them, unify them." She explained.

"You could build the Inquisition to a force that will deliver us, or destroy us." "You think I can do that?" This brought another chuckle from the woman. "I do." She said. "I will go to Haven and give Leliana the names of those who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can." She spoke. "And I thank you." Mehenion bowed. With that, they parted and Mehenion turned back to his party.

"Cassandra? What means "amenable?" He whispered. "She would gather clerics that would be "amenable" to a gathering." Cassandra looked at him. "It means they might agree, might be persuaded." Then she added: "Don't worry. You will improve over time, and we are there also. You are the Herald, but you are not alone in this." She reassured him with the same words the chantry nun spoke. "Thank you. I not think I would survive without your help, yours, councils help, their help.." He pointed at Varric and Solas. "I think we should go to camp. Night is falling and I'm very tired. Tomorrow we should help. Inquisition helping innocents will get trust, yes?" Cassandra laughed. "Yes. I think we can all use a good night's sleep after today.

* * *

It hadn't take much for Mehenion to fall asleep. As soon as they had arrived at the camp, he almost collapsed on his sleeping bag. Solas had wanted to talk to him, but getting anything coherent out of the boy seemed futile. He decided to try in the morning. But that was when their party found out something else. Mehenion was not a morning person and he acted every bit the teenager he still was. Cassandra's soft voice was met with a loud moan and when her soft touch failed, she decided to go for the harder approach. "Get up, boy!" She shouted and pulled the boy upright. "Time for action!" The boy still groaned, but at least she got him moving and in a short while he was fully dressed and sat with small beady eyes to work away his breakfast. He let out a large ostentative yawn and stretched his spine like a cat.

Solas grabbed his moment when Cassandra and Varric were out of earshot and quarreling. "I've been meaning to talk to you. I have a few questions." He sounded friendly, just curious. Someone easily suspicious would have sought more behind it. Mehenion nodded. "You are Dalish, yet you bear no mark like the others…" Mehenion looked at him.

"Wish I could tell you, but I do not know. I can only guess...The Dalish have this ritual they do when elves become adult, yes? Perhaps I was not adult and did not deserve Vallaslin. Perhaps going to temple of Sacred Ashes was coming of age in different way. I hope I will find out. I think about it often." He spoke truthfully. "Best not to worry about it too much. We will get answers." Solas said.

His comforting was met with a mirthless laugh. "All I do is worry, Solas. I guess it part of my job. I also feel...guilt?" He looked at the bald elf. "Why is that?" Solas sounded like a calm and gentle spirit. Only those who knew him well enough, knew about the storm that raged beneath. The worry to be found out for what he was, the worry whether his plan would work, if he could even go through with it. But Mehenion would not confront him in front of others like that. He could have done so already, multiple times. If he even knew.

"Because…" Mehenion began. "I do not feel as home sick as I should, I do not think as much about my family there as I should. I wonder what happened to them. What they feel. Have they even found out? I also feel guilty for this body. Perhaps here he was real person with hopes, dreams, a future and I took him over. Even if it was accident I still feel guilty for steeling his body like envy demon would. What if I am envy demon?" He pondered.

"Then most likely we would have found out by now." Cassandra interjected. "You are just confused and scared, which is normal. But we should focus on more important things. Your fighting still looks and feels clumsy. Come." She said. When he didn't stand up immediately, she let out a growl. "Come." She pulled him up. "You need more than just training with words, your body needs to be trained as well." She said as she bashed in on him with her shield, knocking him backwards. "Right...training...ofcourse…" Mehenion yelped from the ground. "Got it.."

"You should also train your magic with me. It, too, can use some polishing." From the heap on the ground stuck up a thump. "Understood…" Cassandra groaned. "Light as a feather, but stiff as a board you are. You need at least try to resist my blows, boy." "Should we not go fight the baddies or something? Save the people…" He retorted. "All in it's time Da'len." Solas said and got a weird look. "Da'len is used when referring to a younger person or a...student in your case. Technically it means child. Hahren can be used for an older one, a leader or a mentor to translate it loosely." Mehenion looked him deep in the eyes. "You don't look THAT old, Solas. But since you are going to teach me magic, hahren sounds good."

Mehenion got a knack of getting dirty from the most mundane tasks, and thus, after a whole day of training, going after ram meat and stopping a war for the day, he looked like one messy bloody elf. His whole face was covered in dirt and dried blood, most of it, not his own. Although he did have a small gash on his forehead, one on his lower back and some nasty bruises where shockwaves only just bounced off him. If Solas hadn't cast his barrier, he would be a lot worse. Cassandra had scolded him for it. Told him to be more careful. Solas had ordered him and shown him to pick up some elfroot so they would be able to apply it to the wounds later.

"This looks good… water close by, high off the ground, nice view…" He looked over the landscape with it's corpses strewn over the battlefield. "Well...that's up for debate." Varric came to join him. "You be...were... quiet today. Is something wrong?" Mehenion asked. "No, no. I was just thinking of the juiciest stories that I would tell you guys tonight." The dwarf said. Mehenion wasn't sure whether he should believe him. "Ok. If you wanting talk, find me, right?" He patted him on the back.

"To be honest, I have never set up a tent by myself. Not these at least. I might need help." He whispered. "I...feel quite stupid, right now." If he hadn't told them anything about his past, not being able to set up a tent or any basic survival skill might have been very weird, but since he told them a bit of what happened, most of it got easily propped up due to him not really being of this world. But he was learning fast.

Back in his world, it wouldn't have gone that fast. He secretly wondered. If ever, after months or years in this place, would he be able to get used to his own world again or would he have to relearn everything again? Would he still know how to ride a bike or how to pay with credit cards? And even so, how would people react to this body? Or would he leave this body behind? A frown appeared on his forehead. He liked this body, already, even though it felt clumsy at times. And it stunk... It stunk of blood and sweat and dirt.

Mehenion walked to the small lake that formed itself under the waterfall. Slowly he waded in the water and started to peel off his layers of armor and clothing until he stood bare in nothing but his loincloth. He looked back at an astonished company. "What? I need a wash…" He looked down and smiled. Loincloth was still where it needed to be. He looked down at his reflection and his pearly white skin over lean muscles.

Elves in the game always looked so brittle and small, like you could snap them like a twig, and it wasn't much different here. He looked almost as small and frêle as the elf that walked into his hut after he woke, though she was a female. But now he also saw the various bruises and cuts on his body, bruises and cuts that even his armor couldn't fully stop. Mehenion looked back again. "Seriously...are you going tell me what up or join me?" He grinned.

Solas was the first to speak up. "Your back needs healing." He looked worried. The shockwave had left a lightningshaped bruise above the small of his back. He waded into the water and started feeling his back. Mehenion felt his cheeks go red. In the game he would try and romance this man. Now this same man was feeling him up. "Not too much internal damage has been done, thanks to my barrier of course. You need to be more careful, Mehenion." The boy nodded.

He let out a shrieking, earpiercing giggle and his body started twitching when Solas fingers touched his back. Solas recoiled and lost his balance. Varric let out a barking laugh when he saw the elf fall back. "Ticklish, I presume." He said. Mehenion nodded and held out a hand. "Yeah...sorry." He pulled Solas up. The man let out a sigh. He went on to heal the bruise, that was slowly fading.

He started undressing now as well. His clothes were wet now anyway. Mehenion looked at him, but as he felt him looking, he looked away. He was an elf, but he looked broader, wider and not as wiry as the boy. He started to casually collect his clothing and hang them out to dry and saw Mehenion do the same. "Come." He said and lead him to the waterfall for some training in balance and movement. "Well,... it seems like Chuckles is loosening up. What do you think, Seeker?" Varric looked up at Cassandra. "I am NOT going to undress and bathe amongst you, dwarf." She snarled. It was already dark when Mehenion, Solas and Varric sat around the campfire in a fresh set of clothing. All three were conveniently faced away from the lake so Cassandra too could take some time to herself without three guys glaring at her.

**Note: Somehow this chapter was hard for me to write. I was plagued with a little writer's block. Furthermore after rereading and deviding my huge blocks of texts in smaller bitesize chunks, doubt struck. I hope I'm not alone in this, but I do see I have a lot to learn.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the shortness of the shapter, guys...**

The group was up early the next morning to start doing what the Inquisition was meant for. They were starting to help people. If Mehenion had to be honest, he liked the distraction. The fact that they would have to go see Dennett and get horses for the Inquisition filled his gut with a knot. He knew that he would have to show his horsemanship to Dennett's daughter, at least he thought she was.

There was just one problem though, and somehow he had not yet come to telling them about it. He had no idea how to ride a horse. He had sat on a horse, that was all. He had sat on a horse and someone else took the reigns and led the horse around a small parcours during carnival, when he was short. And one day a horse had kicked him down on the pavement and ever since then he was never too fond of them.

He mulled his confession over and over while he was busy precooking rams in flames because a hunter had asked for them. They would also have to go search for blankets and warm clothing and get someone's son to make a concoction for a sick wife. Somewhere halfway they had to sit down though.

He didn't know if it was the blazing sun or something else, but he was getting a nasty headache. He had been knitting his eyebrows into a frown for about an hour now until Cassandra sighed and asked what had him in a foul mood. "I'm not in foul mood, I just have bad headache." He confessed. "It keeps pushing and buzzing." Solas offered to aid him or at least give him a comforting sedative to take the edge off, but even after an hour it still didn't help.

"Let's just get on with business and get this over with. Tell me when they sell nice sunhats." He growled. His light complexion was hitting him in the gut. Why oh why did he have to chose a pale guy with white hair and light eyes as his character? Sure it looked cool, but he was slightly turning into a tomato right now. And they didn't sell sunglasses and sunblock here. He just hoped that was the reason of the throbbing headache.

"Another thing though." He said. "You might already guessed it,...HAVE guessed it" He corrected himself; " but..I cannot horseride." There. It's out. Varric looked up. "They don't have horses where you come from?" Mehenion nodded. "Yes we have. I just never rode them." He explained. "How do you get around?" Cassandra wanted to know. "We have...other means of transportation." He rolled his wrist to find the words. "Like...steel carriages and steel birds.. Might draw them later."

"So you never ridden a horse?" Cassandra asked. "Or a hart?" Solas asked. "A pony perhaps?" Varric wanted to know. "I have ridden a horse when I was young, was also kicked by one, never felt like again. Where I come from, it's an expensive passtime. Most horses I sat on were ponies as I was a child and scared of high places. We don't tame harts for riding where I live." He answered them all.

* * *

They were attacked by bandits, templars and wolves on their way to Dennett and once there, just asking and taking the horses didn't fly with the horsemaster. He was right though, but Mehenion's headache and the hold up they faced by getting here was making him so agitated that he wanted to snap the poor man's head off.

"Excuse me for a bit." He said to the old man, before he began to confer with the group. "I think you should do this." Mehenion said. "Or we should come back later when my headache doesn't mess with my mood and doesn't make me want to lash out." He growled. "If we are Inquisition, they deserve our best, and I am not our best, right now."

But Cassandra didn't want to hear any of it. "You are the Herald of Andraste, Mehenion." The boy rolled his eyes. They argued some more before Mehenion turned back towards the man to agree to his terms. They were more than reasonable. If he were in his place, he wouldn't be too happy either to give his prized horses to some cranky kid and his goons, even if they DID call themselves the Inquisition.

As expected he kept the best for last. By late afternoon they had fought wolves and a nasty demon. The large stones that closed around them provided for some nice shade and cool. The Hinterlands might be barren cold in winter and in the evenings, but when the sun shone, it was bright and warm. And a pale boy like him didn't need much sun to turn bright red.

"Good...Here goes nothing." He sighed as he climbed upon the horse. "High…I think a pony would be better for me as well.." He said while he tried not to look down. "Whoa…" The high thing moved as he shifted in his saddle. He asked for the instructions again. "So like this?" Before the lady could answer though, the horse shot off with a squealing Mehenion on top. The creature felt the inexperience of it's rider and, agitated, threw him off and strutted back to its caretaker.

Mehenion lay motionless on the path. His three companions rushed over to him. Solas checked for injuries. He had an injury on his forehead and his arms were shafed. His ribs too would hurt when he would wake up.

Master Dennett had heard the panic and helped Cassandra, Solas and Varric to carry Mehenion inside and on the table. His wife too rushed in and quickly cleaned her hands to help. "What happened?" She wanted to know. Cassandra told her he fell off the Ferelden Forder. It was a fine creature, relatively tame and easy to ride, but perhaps not fitted for the most inexperienced.

* * *

It was only the next morning that Mehenion woke up, sore and bruised. "Where am I?" He asked. "Your friend is awake." Dennetts wife told Cassandra. She still leaned over Mehenion. "What happened, how long have I been here?" He worked himself in a sitting position. "I hope the horse isn't hurt. The last horse…" His speaking became unintelligible again as he drifted off.

"I'm sorry to hold you up, Cassandra." Mehenion said as soon as he woke again a few hours later and stared into her eyes. "We will make up for lost time." She replied. He wasn't sure if she joked or not, but for as far as he knew her, she seemed like the kind of person to mean such a thing. "How is your headache?" She asked. "Better, fortunately…" He groaned while he stretched himself and pulled off the blankets. "Be careful." Mehenion smiled. "Don't worry. I'm good. I think they would like their bed back."

Solas checked him for injuries. "Remarkable." He whispered. "What is remarkable?" Cassandra wanted to know. "There is no injury left. The injuries he sustained would usually last longer, even with healing. "Perhaps you exceeded your own expectations, Chuckles." Varric consoled him. "Perhaps." But Solas wasn't ready to let this slide yet. "What do you remember?" He gazed in Mehenions eyes. "I don't know what you mean. I remember everything since I got here and before I got here. Just nothing in between.

He looked at master Dennett again. "I thank you for your and your wifes hospitality." He heard Varric whisper behind his back. "Is it me or did his language improve? But how?" Mehenion tried to ignore it for now, however. "We will make sure the Hinterlands and Redcliffe are safe to travel again." He turned around and walked out. "Let's deal with these rogue templars and mages." He cracked his knuckles.

**So finally I could squeeze out another chapter. It took me a while I know, but I didn't really feel inspired. Hope you guys still like it. I hope to show more of what happened in a next chapter. **


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